I have some things I should be doing today but I feel like I’ve been fighting off a cold or allergies or something all week so I decided to stay in. This would be the perfect time to get some writing in. If I could break 3,000 words maybe I’d feel a bit better (I won’t). Still, it’s probably a good thing I decided to take a lahzee lazy laisy relaxed atitiude towards the whole thing.
Both my watches need a battery now. One of the things I should have done today was gone to have them replaced. Or go and get an Apple Watch. But probably get batteries. I still can’t think of even one good reason for me to have an Apple Watch. The most use it would get (besides telling time) would be reading all new email I get from Fry’s, Best Buy, Pizza Hut, etc. Nobody I know on a personal level ever emails me. Or calls me. Sometimes I get texts, which justifies even having a phone.
It would seem, then, that’d I’d be the perfect person to put my life on hold in order to write a novel in thirty days. I don’t have one. It doesn’t work that way, though. When there’s nobody cheering you on it doesn’t always seem like a top priority. Or even a low one. It’s just something to do.
And then you (you, the reader you) says something like, “Well what the hell are you doing writing all this sorry stuff for instead of writing your stupid story?”
That’s a fair question. A fair question that I won’t answer. Not in full. Basically, there’s stuff I want to write but it doesn’t quite fit the schema of the story. It’s really just feelings (nothing more than feelings) and stuff. And, since I’m not feeling all that way all the moment, this is the perfect place to whine, complain, bitch and moan.

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